Disclaimer: The show is so not mine.

CHAPTER 10:

He wakes up to the sound of classic rock blaring and the whirring of an engine. His skull is filled with a heavy, throbbing pain and he knows he must have taken a whack to the head. His whole face feels swollen in a sort of exaggerated way and he has to coach himself to open his eyes.

He sees the back of two heads in front of him. One head is covered in faintly wavy hair, unruly and long. The other is covered in short, styled hair. A jolt of understanding rushes through him in the form of pure adrenaline as he realizes who the two heads are.

It's the Winchesters. He's been kidnapped by the Winchesters.

The entire interior of the car is layered in intricate designs he assumes are influenced by the brothers' occultist beliefs. He tries not to look at the signs; they disturb him and remind him of what could very well happen to him.

He realizes the brothers are talking.

"Did we really have to kidnap him Dean? I mean, we could have just wacked him and left!" It's the bigger one talking and really, Dentrel doesn't want to think in terms of first names. It's too personal. Too much of a reminder of his newfound position.

"You know why we did Sam," a clipped response. That's irritation and that does not bode well for Dentrel.

The big one- no, he's going to face this like a man and use his big boy words- Sam sighs and signals his assent, "Yeah."

Damn, there goes his chance of at least one sympathetic hope.

Not that Dentrel really expected anything anyways. Though he hasn't said anything during the profiling of the two, something about Sam Winchester always rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was his put upon compassion and naivety in college and on other occasions since then. No one in their twisted family could possibly be so normal.

Suddenly, as if he's read Dentrel's mind, Sam turns in his seat. Sam looks terrible. Not in any sort of gruesome, murderous way, but rather, in a sick, pasty, dying sort of way. In spite of appearances though, Sam flashes him a grin.

"You're up… officer." Sam looks sheepish. Like he has the right, Dentrel thinks bitterly and looks away. He really doesn't care about what this criminal has to say and will not give him the satisfaction of showing him attention.

"I'm really sorry about all of this. I know you won't believe anything we tell you, but really, we are the good guys! I know you think all of these deaths are ours, but we didn't murder any of those people."

Dentrel wonders where Sam is going with his little speech. After all, there's no sense in trying to win over someone already in line for death.

"We're just trying to help. That's why we took you with us. There's something dangerous out there and we're pretty sure it's going to try to kill you now." Maybe he wants sympathy? Or was that the threat of a delusional man?

"Anyways, just.. Just hold tight I guess? You just might see something that'll change your mind about us." He looks vaguely worried about this and his face is twisted up in some sort of half-smiling, half-grimacing expression.

Dentrel gets it though. Sam is making a play at getting a more docile hostage. Not going to happen. Dentrel looks up now, and stares the monster straight in the eyes.

"No." It's almost a growl and Dentrel is pleased that Sam looks less the comfortable with his response. "You two are monsters. You may disguised by distinguished features and young faces and charisma, but I am not going to be of your Stockholm victims."

Dentrel thinks maybe he should leave it there, at least give himself a chance of not being beaten to a pulp before he dies, but then he remembers that's likely what will happen anyways. "Do you remember Henricksen, the last FBI agent that captured you two? He was a friend and I won't forget that you destroyed every aspect of his life. He gave everything to catch you two."

His gaze has been switching between the two brothers, gauging their reactions. This time, he turns to Dean and sees his fingers grip the steering wheel tighter. Good, the bastard can feel. Maybe Dentrel can make a play at some sort of mind game with the two. After all, physically, he's outmatched. There are two of them, and though Sam looks almost out for the count, he's still humungous. If he were a friend, Dentrel might even call him Sasquatch, or Moose.

Sam has not shied from Dentrel's piercing glares, and though Sam looks saddened, troubled, he still responds to Dentrel. "I understand."

The rest of the car ride is silent as Dentrel tries to work through the ropes he's tied with.